We spent just two nights in Dalat. "The city of eternal spring" turned out to be the spring that we as native Englanders are all too familiar with. Grey sunless skies, perpetually damp earth, and constant icy drizzle. But again, as native Englanders, we weren't going to let a bit of rain dampen our spirits, and the next day we were up early with a picnic packed and four (almost functional) bicycles rented.
It wasn't until after we had rented the bicycles that we realised there was an error in our planned picnic/cycling trip. Most of the sights the mountainous region has to offer aren't accessible by pushbike unless you're a tour de France polka dot jersey holder. We were limited to Dalat's (unfinished) "crazy house" and a waterfall nearby that I cant remember the name of... Not that it matters, because I certainly won't be recommending a visit unless you like to watch brown water trickle slowly over brown rocks or enjoy riding ponies spray painted as zebras for extortionate prices. We bypassed the garish attractions and spent a lovely afternoon playing cards and picnicing in the spring-cool gardens nearby. To retain our masculinity after that sentence i'm also going to mention that our picnic consisted mostly of meat, and that not one of us actually used the word 'picnic' that day.
After only two days away from Nha Trang, we were already feeling pangs of nostalgia. Not only for the warm weather, picturesque beaches and vibrant nightlife, but also for our hilarious Irish friend (appropriately named Fergal Slattery) we had left behind there. The decision to return to Nha Trang was unanimous, and after another relaxing day on the beach and another cracking night on the town, we maintain that it was a good one.
We left Nha Trang the next day (at 7pm, after a full day's recovery this time) and arrived in Hoi An early the next morning. Dressed in vests, shorts and flip flops, we were greeted by more Dalat style frosty drizzle, and quickly found refuge in the first reasonably priced hotel we came across. The room is spacious and well equipped, but we have nicknamed it 'the prison cell' due to the absence of all natural light. On the positive side, the lack of a window means that when we wake up, we aren't immediately made aware of the miserable weather that awaits us outside every day here.
The town is beautiful nonetheless; cobbled pedestrianised alleyways run between old stone buildings, and the huge covered market has a particularly authentic feel. This is principally due to the extremely low tarpaulin ceiling... It's perfect for the locals, who can stride easily beneath it, but the taller members of our group are forced to hunch over and stagger along gracelessly like clothed gorillas.
Hoi An is famous in the tourist trail because of the abundance of tailors, who boldly claim that they "can make anything". A customer is invited to sit down at the computer and browse the web for any piece of clothing or shoe that they would like made.
It's really quite a good service, although if I have one criticism it's that they should take the measurements before agreeing a price. Ed decided to get some leather shoes made, and after a round of intense haggling a good price was agreed. Seconds later the tailor went to measure his foot and was appalled to find that his monstrous size 13 feet would require a lot more leather than she expected. She could demand more money all she wanted, but Ed refused to raise his already fair offer.
Well you know what they say about men with big feet... Big shoes.
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Thursday, 24 March 2011
From the sea to the mountains
The mountaintop city of Dalat is affectionately nicknamed "the city of eternal Spring". Having been exclusively in the seaside for the past few weeks, we were keen for a change of scenery. Additionally, if my tan were to get any darker i would be invisible at nighttime, and in Nha Trang (a city famed for it's nightlife) this was something we couldn't risk.
We were all horrified to discover that the only bus available from Nha Trang to Dalat leaves at 8am. Ordinarily this wouldn't have been a problem, except we had already planned to have a heavy last night on the town with the Swedes from our dormitory. I won't bore you with details of the night itself, partially because I don't want those sorts of things posted on the internet for all to see, and partially because all of us can only remember about 35% of what happened when we pool our memories.
Needless to say, none of us were feeling particularly well rested in the morning. Anyway, fortunately the bus was air conditioned and somewhat comfortable, save for Olly and Ed, who were given such little legroom that they had to spend the journey with their knees in their mouths. After apologising in advance to the girl on my right for the inevitable snoring, i fell into a deep sleep.
The road between Nha Trang and Dalat was advertised everywhere as 'the new highway', which had supposedly cut the journey time almost in half. Well as far as I'm concerned, "new" really should have been "still in contruction" because the entire road was littered with huge gaps in the tarmac at regular intervals, and some short stretches were entirely unbegun, let alone unfinished. At one point we found ourselves sliding worryingly down a slippery muddy patch of flattened earth with huge piles of constuction materials on one side and nothing but the steep mountainside on the other.
In truth, we were happy to be woken up so often by the huge bumps damaging the bus's suspension, because we awoke to stunning views of the deep forested valleys and cloud circled mountaintops.I'm sorry i missed any of it and I'll make sure i'm fully rested for the bus out of here.
Eventually we arrived in Dalat, which itself feels a lot more like a town than a city, for the buildings are often detached with sloping roofs that look a lot more homely than the squat socialist architecture to be found in the rest of Vietnam's cities. It was raining though; and not tropical warm rain like what we've experienced so far. This was the quintessential English drizzle that we all haven't been missing at all.
Happily, we soon found a hotel. Since being in this part of the world, we've experienced our fair share of bad electricals; Ho Chi Mihn's seemingly random and dangerous looking above ground power cables, and a power socket in Phnom Penh that you needed rubber gloves to operate. Here in Dalat we had our first experience with dangerous plumbing.
While we all relaxed in the hotel room, Olly was taking a shower, and complaining about the temperature of the water. He described that the water was ice cold until you moved the temperature lever a millimetre and then it would be boiling hot. This isn't particularly unusual, so we just told him to man up and deal with it and got back to being lazy. Next thing we heard was a deafeningly loud bang extremely similar to the sound of the AK-47 rifles we fired in Phnom Penh. This was followed by an equally loud rushing noise like a firehose shooting point blank at a wall. We all sat bolt upright trying to figure out whether the hotel was under attack by terrorists as Olly came stumbling and sliding out of the bathroom with a hysterical/fearful expression on his face like nothing I've seen before.That was the last thing i saw before steam poured out of the bathroom door and the room was filled with an warm opaque fog. We opened a window for ventilation and rushed into the corridor.
The receptionist ran up the stairs and immediately stepped into the shoes of an amateur plumber. Half an hour later he turned the water back on and all was well. We've taken a gamble not asking to move rooms but this one has the best view anyway.
We were all horrified to discover that the only bus available from Nha Trang to Dalat leaves at 8am. Ordinarily this wouldn't have been a problem, except we had already planned to have a heavy last night on the town with the Swedes from our dormitory. I won't bore you with details of the night itself, partially because I don't want those sorts of things posted on the internet for all to see, and partially because all of us can only remember about 35% of what happened when we pool our memories.
Needless to say, none of us were feeling particularly well rested in the morning. Anyway, fortunately the bus was air conditioned and somewhat comfortable, save for Olly and Ed, who were given such little legroom that they had to spend the journey with their knees in their mouths. After apologising in advance to the girl on my right for the inevitable snoring, i fell into a deep sleep.
The road between Nha Trang and Dalat was advertised everywhere as 'the new highway', which had supposedly cut the journey time almost in half. Well as far as I'm concerned, "new" really should have been "still in contruction" because the entire road was littered with huge gaps in the tarmac at regular intervals, and some short stretches were entirely unbegun, let alone unfinished. At one point we found ourselves sliding worryingly down a slippery muddy patch of flattened earth with huge piles of constuction materials on one side and nothing but the steep mountainside on the other.
In truth, we were happy to be woken up so often by the huge bumps damaging the bus's suspension, because we awoke to stunning views of the deep forested valleys and cloud circled mountaintops.I'm sorry i missed any of it and I'll make sure i'm fully rested for the bus out of here.
Eventually we arrived in Dalat, which itself feels a lot more like a town than a city, for the buildings are often detached with sloping roofs that look a lot more homely than the squat socialist architecture to be found in the rest of Vietnam's cities. It was raining though; and not tropical warm rain like what we've experienced so far. This was the quintessential English drizzle that we all haven't been missing at all.
Happily, we soon found a hotel. Since being in this part of the world, we've experienced our fair share of bad electricals; Ho Chi Mihn's seemingly random and dangerous looking above ground power cables, and a power socket in Phnom Penh that you needed rubber gloves to operate. Here in Dalat we had our first experience with dangerous plumbing.
While we all relaxed in the hotel room, Olly was taking a shower, and complaining about the temperature of the water. He described that the water was ice cold until you moved the temperature lever a millimetre and then it would be boiling hot. This isn't particularly unusual, so we just told him to man up and deal with it and got back to being lazy. Next thing we heard was a deafeningly loud bang extremely similar to the sound of the AK-47 rifles we fired in Phnom Penh. This was followed by an equally loud rushing noise like a firehose shooting point blank at a wall. We all sat bolt upright trying to figure out whether the hotel was under attack by terrorists as Olly came stumbling and sliding out of the bathroom with a hysterical/fearful expression on his face like nothing I've seen before.That was the last thing i saw before steam poured out of the bathroom door and the room was filled with an warm opaque fog. We opened a window for ventilation and rushed into the corridor.
The receptionist ran up the stairs and immediately stepped into the shoes of an amateur plumber. Half an hour later he turned the water back on and all was well. We've taken a gamble not asking to move rooms but this one has the best view anyway.
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